


An Interlude

by quantum221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate AU-BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom John Watson, Deepthroating, Dom!Sherlock, Dom/sub, Domspace, M/M, Nipple Play, Riding Crops, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Sub!John, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantum221b/pseuds/quantum221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot interlude in an established Dom/Sub relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to make this a multi-chapter story starting after Season 3, if people like it. So, let me know what you think! The focus very much will be on Dom/Sub dynamics

Sherlock Holmes was practically vibrating with restless energy as he flung his scarf over the chair and moved to remove his coat.

It had been one of their most intense and nerve wracking cases.

A group of people smugglers was intent on flooding Britain with vulnerable kidnapped children from Eastern Europe to satisfy the lusts of wealthy paedophiles. Based on an anonymous tip, the entirety of Scotland Yard had swung into action and floundered for days. Within hours of Sherlock and John’s return from a case that had taken them to Cornwall, a harassed looking Lestrade had descended on them and fairly demanded Sherlock’s expertise, unwilling to take no for an answer. Sherlock’s jaw had clenched tight as he listened to Lestrade’s description of the ring of smugglers, their mastermind on the run with the details of the current whereabouts of over a hundred kids with him and hundreds more that were waiting to be smuggled in later.

They had swung into action like a well-oiled machine as they raced to the Yard and Sherlock went through the available evidence in that lightening fast way of his. He barked orders, summoned evidence, deduced with a ferocity and focus that even John had never seen him apply before. On the first day, John had had the rare privilege of watching an unusually gentle Sherlock interview two of the three rescued traumatized children to coax some details out of them. The third was in hospital undergoing emergency surgery for horrific internal injuries brought upon by vicious forced copulation and beatings. Even at his most tender, when John was coming down from deep subspace, he had never heard that degree of kindness and gentleness in Sherlock’s voice.

It was on the third day that Sherlock split the case wide open. Three days of bare snatches of sleep and food. Three days of watching Sherlock’s phenomenal brain bend to his will, as his white-knuckled grip held on to the children’s photographs and the ring leader’s police sketches. John watched as Sherlock’s tensed shoulders finally relaxed, his jaw un-clenched, a look of not smugness but satisfaction on his face as finally the ring-leader and his cohorts were rounded up, eyes laced with tiredness but also triumph.

The cab drive back home had been electric. Sherlock was jumpy and restless, his knee bobbing up and down in jerky movements as he seemed to buzz with barely leashed energy. John sat quietly by his side observing him. The friend in John wanted to celebrate his friend’s success, wanted to shout from rooftops that over a hundred children would have been resigned to a life of slavery and sexual abuse, had Sherlock not saved them. The submissive in John however was quivering with want, he wanted to get on his hands and knees and present himself to this man, to completely give up his will, his body, his mind in a gesture of complete submission and gratitude for being allowed to be part of this.

As soon as they entered the flat, Sherlock untied his blue scarf and threw it in the chair and unbuttoned his coat with precise movements. John watched as he paced, heart thudding in his chest.

Abruptly Sherlock stopped mid pace to face John, the intensity in his look almost taking John’s breath away.

“John…” he said, as though asking a question, his gaze hesitant, hands clenched by his sides.

John looked up in confusion at his tone. It was no longer Sherlock standing in front of him, it was his Dom asking for permission. But Sherlock had never asked for permission before.

Why now?

John was getting better at reading this most enigmatic of men. With a flash of insight he understood why. In the months past, in every scene, it was John’s need for pain, for submission that had taken precedence. Sherlock even in the throes of passion and ownership had been the one in control, the one who knew where to draw the line. This though, was a different Dom. Today Sherlock was asking to let his Dominant side out in full glory, he was asking permission to lose that control. A wave of submission swept over John, _Oh God Yes, today of all days yes, yes, yes, today anything you want, for as long as you want, I will give you, anything, Sherlock, my beautiful Dom, I am so lucky to belong to you……_ as he stepped closer to gaze up into those beautiful questioning eyes.

Sherlock dug his fingernails into his fist to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing John. The detached clinical part of him was aware that he was in no shape to assume control, every filthy lustful desire in the forefront and an urge to imprint himself on John, to selfishly use John for his pleasure and his pleasure alone was singing through his veins. This was new, it was potent, it was powerful enough a surge of dominance to make even Sherlock hesitate. He looked back at John, fighting to keep his countenance impassive. But he could not stop a small gasp from escaping him, as John, his wonderful Sub seemed to understand the unarticulated question and he watched him slowly sink to his knees in front of Sherlock in a gesture of submission.

John looked up at Sherlock from his position at his feet and in a voice filled with trust and confidence he whispered, his words seeming to reverberate in the quiet dead of the night, “Anything, Sherlock. Anything you want, for as long as you want. Use me. I’m yours.” He lowered his eyes to the floor and bowed his head down, letting Sherlock make the decision.

They stayed there unmoving, like statues frozen into place. The room filled with Sherlock’s audible short breaths as he decided.  Finally John was rewarded for his patience, his words and his submission, as for the first time in three days, Sherlock touched him. Gentle fingers stroked through his short hair, the tips massaging his scalp lightly, as Sherlock murmured, “Such a good Sub you are, John. My John. Made for me. You can sense what I need, can’t you? Such a good Sub…” John’s very being seemed to quiver as his Dom’s words made him want to preen. He barely resisted arching into the touch like a cat, though it was a close call.

With a gentle tug to John’s hair, Sherlock nudged him closer, till John’s forehead rested on one thigh. Through the pleasure of feeling Sherlock’s fingers, John breathed in the musk of Sherlock’s arousal. Sherlock was _hard_ , his erection hard against his abdomen, tenting the flawless lines of his bespoke trousers. John’s nostrils flared, breathing in the scent, as his mouth flooded with saliva at the thought of that heavy familiar weight on his tongue. He could barely restrain himself from reaching out and taking Sherlock in his mouth. His fingers clutched Sherlock’s trouser leg desperately as he fought for control. _Today this is about him, what he needs. Not about me. What my Dom needs…._ “Good, John, very good,” he heard Sherlock murmur as though reading his thoughts.

Slowly the touches changed to more insistent scratches and finally with his fingers gripping the hairs at their roots almost painfully, Sherlock tugged so that John’s face was upturned forcefully towards him. His face looked domineering as he announced his first order for the day, “I want you naked, bent over the table. Now.” He released John’s hair and stepped back leaving John to struggle to regain his balance and turned around and walked briskly towards his bedroom, without a backward glance.

John stood up, knees wobbly as his heart seemed to ricochet in his chest wanting to come out. With trembling fingers he undressed himself, thinking that he had never seen that look on Sherlock’s face. A look so dominating and merciless. He quickly cleared the table, resisting the urge to give a few strokes to his leaking erect cock. _Not without Sherlock’s permission_ , he thought as he leaned over the table, grasping both side edges to stabilise his body and widened his stance, presenting his arse for Sherlock to use. A wave of humiliation and submission fell over him and he struggled to keep subspace at bay. _I need to keep my head today, let Sherlock lose control. One of us has to be in their right minds_ , he reminded himself.

He waited.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> I had thought I would be done in two chapters, but this thing seems to have taken a life of it's own. So there will be yet another chapter to after this one.  
> Enjoy!

The noises of traffic outside, so loud during the day, were now sporadic. It was approaching close to midnight after all. The living room was engulfed in subdued lighting from the dull golden glow of the kitchen lamp and the roaring fire in the fireplace.

“ _Bless Mrs Hudson_ ”, thought John, as he moved his legs around where he stood, bent over the table in the living room. Gooseflesh covered his body now, as the chill of the cold air coming in from one of the open windows caressed him. He was not quite sure if the gooseflesh was from the cold or due to anticipation. It scarcely mattered. This was the least he would endure tonight and gladly. For Sherlock. For his Dom.

He closed his eyes, head resting on the table top. He could hear Sherlock moving around in his bedroom. Every nerve in his body was buzzing with want and need and anticipation. Waiting for Sherlock’s touch. His erection had waned somewhat in the cold air, but John had discovered in the past few months that belonging to Sherlock was not just a physical act, there was a far larger mental and emotional dimension to it. Sherlock did not just fuck him and hurt him, he overwhelmed him; he took everything John had, everything John was and made it his. He owned John and paradoxically it was the most blissful state that John had ever experienced.

 _“He changed my life three times,”_ thought John _. “Once when I walked, cane in hand, into the lab at Bart’s all those years ago. Second, when he jumped off the roof at Bart’s, and effectively killed something vital in me. And third, when all those months ago I finally knelt for him.”_

Three times, Sherlock Holmes had shaken up and rearranged his life, his convictions about himself. It was as though everything and everyone else, even Mary was ancillary to Sherlock, gap-fillers merely in retrospect, until Sherlock turned his brilliant focus on John. He was so far entrenched into John’s psyche it had been frightening at times initially. But not anymore. John had learned that Sherlock would always surprise him. That was the one constant of his life. He was a glorious Dom—strict, unyielding, passionate but also fair and gentle when needed. “I trust him. The only person in the world I trust with all of what I am,” John thought surprised.

His thoughts were interrupted as he finally heard Sherlock’s purposeful footfalls on the kitchen floor as he strode into the living room.

There was silence for a long time. John knew that Sherlock was behind him, just watching him. He gripped the sides of the table harder, the urge to slip down on his knees and beg for Sherlock’s touch was too potent.

Finally, _finally_ Sherlock stepped forward and bracketing his long legs on either side of John’s he bent over his back, blanketing John’s chilled body. His hand landed next to John’s face, long fingers draped around the handle of the riding crop, graceful wrist bent to put it on the table. _Such beautiful hands, such a delicate looking wrist. But I know the strength in those wrists well enough._

Sherlock buried his face in the crook of John’s neck and just stayed there for a while, splayed over him. Gentle puffs of his exhalations fanned John’s skin and John wanted _oh so badly_ , to turn his face and breathe in all that air that had been through Sherlock’s lungs. He was still fully clothed, the expensive wool itched against John’s skin even as it welcomed the warmth; Sherlock’s erection, prominent and hard, pressed against his cleft. John’s hard-on had leapt at Sherlock’s touch and the sight of the crop. Part of him was disappointed though. Much as he loved the riding crop, he enjoyed the feel of Sherlock’s big palms on his naked flesh more. And tonight it would have been additionally delicious.

Sherlock, mind-reader that he was, chuckled—that deep voice sending shivers down John. “Not tonight, John.” Teeth grazed over the fleshy part of John’s shoulder as he murmured, “Tonight I get to hurt you without my hands stinging as well. Tonight, I mean to enjoy you, to drink in every sound you make.” Sharp teeth sunk into John’s shoulder, the bite sharp and feral and ruthless. John felt pinned like a helpless prey under an agile, cruel predator and his blood sang as adrenaline was pumped into his system.

Slowly Sherlock straightened, leaving the crop on the table. A warm hand touched his lower back fleetingly, as he ordered, “Stay.”

He walked around the room, closing the open window, locking both the kitchen and living room door. And then John heard him poking into the fire and adding more wood to make the room warmer. John’s body warmed up as he next heard the rustle of clothes as Sherlock undressed behind him.

He came into view a few moments later as Sherlock stretched his hand to pick up the riding crop. John strained his neck to catch a glimpse of a naked thigh gleaming in the golden light of the fire. His other hand gently landed on John’s head, fingers stroking John’s hair gently as he said, “Steady, John.” His hand moved down John’s spine to cup his arse and squeeze one cheek.

John shuffled back a bit to allow his engorged prick to sway freely and arched his back to elevate his arse up. Sherlock’s hand moved to the other cheek pinching and kneading the firm flesh beneath it, fingernails leaving marks as they pinched and scratched. He stepped back and for a while only the sound of the occasional car disturbed the peace of 221B Baker Street. Every fibre of John’s being was hyperaware and waiting.

Suddenly, without warning the crop swung in a wide arc and landed with a loud slap on one cheek.

“Sherlock,” John cried out, even as his hands scrambled across the table edges, his body swung into an arc away from Sherlock, his toes curled up and he went up on his tiptoes, as his body’s flight response was triggered. Every muscle in his arse bunched up as he panted through the harsh sting on his skin. There was no respite as the crop swung again, and then again, the sound of the crop whistling through the air preceded each loud crack on John’s skin.

John moaned and whimpered without censoring a single cry, just as Sherlock had ordered. Sherlock grunted as he brought the crop down about a dozen times, in a seemingly random pattern over John’s arse cheeks and the sensitive underside and the backs of the thighs. John’s lower half was swaying in an attempt to get away after each stinging blow and then returning and presenting towards Sherlock. His upper body was stuck to the table, fingers holding the table in a death grip. His cock was so hard it hurt, as every blow flared his arousal

The sounds of John’s gasps and moans, the crack of the riding crop, Sherlock’s pants filled the room in a symphony of pain and pleasure. The smell of sex, of sweat, of lust swirled all around him and he felt almost dizzy with a desperate need.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Three final blows landed in quick succession before Sherlock threw the riding crop back on the table. He was panting audibly, his harsh breaths echoed in the silence as his hands grabbed John’s hips and he rutted his large cock against John’s crack. John’s arse was on fire from the smacks as he felt the wetness of Sherlock’s pre-come smear over it.

Abruptly he moved away and John almost sobbed at the loss of contact. But he was back soon and John heard the click of the tube of lubricant being opened. “Spread your legs,” Sherlock ordered and John scrambled to obey. One long finger breached him as Sherlock placed his head next to John’s and watched John’s face calmly.

“John Watson,” he whispered as he added a second finger. “Doctor John Watson,” he said as he added a third. The sharp stretch though familiar, always burned initially. John widened his stance to give Sherlock more room. Sherlock positioned two fingers on either side of the smooth firm lump of John’s prostate and added fleeting firm caresses to the gland itself, smiling as John moaned and gasped. “Captain John Watson,” he murmured as he spread his fingers further, stretching John’s hole relentlessly. “If only people could see you now, Captain Doctor John Watson. Being my good little fuck-toy,” the murmured words sounded even more obscene coming from that posh mouth.

Sherlock straightened up and looked down at John’s well-lubed hole, “God, John, I can never get used to this,” he said as his palm caressed the burning skin. His hand snaked in between John’s leg to grab his balls, touch none to gentle as he rolled them around. Smack! Sherlock’s hand came down slapping the most sensitive part of John, just over his arsehole and balls.

“Oh God, Sherlock,” John screamed.

Harsh fingers grabbed at John’s hair and yanked his head up. Sherlock almost growled as he spoke, his voice so deep it was almost reduced to a vibration, “We’ve only just begun, John.” His fingers tightened around John’s hair as he demanded, “Tell me you can take more, John. Tell me.”

John stared in wonder into his Dom’s eyes. Sherlock looked _stunning,_ hazel eyes shining, his cheekbones flushed, his soft curls sticking to his scalp with sweat, an isolated drop of sweat making its way down from his forehead. John desperately wanted to lean over and lick it and taste the essence of Sherlock’s passion. Sherlock’s gaze was focussed, but it was not the scanning observant look that he wore habitually; this was an introspective, brooding look. He looked powerful, as if he were revelling in the power of his dominance. The submissive in John nearly whimpered as John replied shakily, “Anything, Sherlock. I will take anything you give me.”

With a loud moan, Sherlock pulled him upright. John swayed and fought to gain some balance after having been bent over for so long. Large hands steadied him as they cupped his face. Sherlock brought his lips close to John’s as they stood there just breathing and looking into each other’s eyes. Finally in a husky voice, Sherlock asked, “Is there anything you would deny me, John? Is there anything that I would give and you would not accept?” Surprised by the unexpected tenderness in Sherlock’s voice, John’s eyes moistened as he wordlessly shook his head.

“You’re mine,” murmured Sherlock as he closed the distance to claim John’s lips. Soft caressing kisses at first and then an insistent tongue parted John’s lips. John’s entire body arched into his Dom’s seeking closer contact of its own volition. “Please, please Sherlock,” John begged. Sherlock’s response was to deepen the kiss as his tongue roamed possessively into every corner of John’s mouth. One hand moved to hold John’s head in place by the nape of his neck whilst another moved to hold his nipple. John gasped into Sherlock’s mouth as he felt a hard pinch on his nipple and then Sherlock’s fingers were twisting it and pulling it. He fought to keep his hands submissively down even as every instinct in him wanted to put his hand on his cock _. I bet I won’t even need two strokes before I explode_ , he thought, feeling delirious in his arousal.

“Shhh..” Sherlock whispered gently. “Not yet, John,” as his thumb caressed John’s cheek for a while.

John stood there swaying as though drunk under Sherlock’s touch until he felt Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder pushing him down.

“Kneel, John.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I am starting to feel cautiously optimistic now that I realise that we lovers of “Sherlock-in-charge” are not as much of an endangered species as I thought we were!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and bookmarks. It would be lovely if you would comment as well, comments are fun--*nudge, nudge*
> 
> This little snippet was inspired by a much longer story-arc that has been rattling around in my head for some time. As a matter of fact, I have already started posting it and have decided to call it “Culmination.” 
> 
> Come hang out with me if you are similarly inclined and support me there as well. We need to work towards the conservation of our species:)  
> Meanwhile, enjoy!

John sank down on his knees thinking yes, _yes_ _finally_ as he stared unabashedly at Sherlock’s hard cock. It was beautiful, just like Sherlock, long, thick and graceful, jutting out of a nest of dark curls that John knew were just as soft as Sherlock’s gorgeous hair. The pink head of his glans shone with pre-come pooled at the slit. Delicate tortuous veins stood out in prominent relief adding a shade of blue to the dusky pink. John’s mouth watered as he looked and inhaled greedily, waiting for instructions, unable to resist a quick lick of his lips.

“Look at me,” said Sherlock after a while.

John looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes and felt like he would gladly drown in the desire and absolute ownership he saw in them. Sherlock cupped the back of his head as he moved closer. Holding the base of his cock in his fist, he brought up the gleaming tip and moved it languidly against John’s chapped lips, smearing his pre-come over them.

“How often have you wanted to do this in the past three days?” he asked huskily.

“All the time,” John replied simply. “You were brilliant, Sherlock.”

Sherlock quirked his lip up and murmured quietly, “I know.” He caressed John’s lips with a thumb for a few moments, lips that were now moist with Sherlock’s pre-come, before inserting the thumb into John’s mouth. John sucked on the thumb as though he was ravenous while Sherlock continued to look down at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

He pulled his thumb out and ran his fingers through John’s hair and ordered, “Pleasure me, John.”

John shuffled forward gratefully and for the first time that evening he held Sherlock in his hand. He buried his nose into the curls and breathed deeply for a bit before turning his attention to Sherlock’s cock. Licking it all over to get it wet, before he opened his mouth wide to take just the head in with the amount of pressure that Sherlock liked. Holding just the glans in as he sucked up all the moisture at the tip. It was like an explosion of Sherlock’s essence in his mouth and he had been starving for it so badly and for so long, he could not resist the loud moan that escaped him.

And then he really got down to work.

Using every skill he had learnt and armed with the knowledge of what Sherlock liked done, he licked and stroked and tried to take him as deep in his throat as he could. It was always a challenge but John was getting better at it. He held that heavy engorged length in his hands as he turned his attention to Sherlock’s balls. Tiny hair tickled his chin as he gently suckled on each testicle taking it in his mouth and rolling it about while his tongue went into over-drive licking and caressing.

Sherlock stood, his legs spread, one hand on John’s head, his own thrown back as he enjoyed his Sub’s worship. Soft moans of pleasure escaped his throat and his grip on John’s hair slowly tightened. John sucked eagerly, drinking in every sound that Sherlock made. His own neglected leaking cock swung between his legs, forgotten, as John’s pleasure flowed directly from pleasuring his Dom. Nothing else could ever be more important.

“Enough,” Sherlock ordered as he pulled at John’s hair.

Immediately John let go, fighting his instinct to beg. _Not enough, not enough._

Sherlock chuckled darkly as though he could read John’s thoughts on his forehead, “You enjoyed that a lot, John, now it’s my turn.”

One large palm wrapped itself around the side of John’s neck, its width enough to cover the entire span of John’s neck, fingers digging into his nape, while the thumb was held firmly just under his chin. The other hand moved to hold the back of John’s head firmly to angle John’s head up. He stepped forward so that each muscular thigh was positioned next to John’s shoulder. John was effectively pinned in place, with no hope of moving even an inch without a struggle.

“Open up, John,” he instructed and slid his cock back into John’s willing mouth. A few shallow in and out thrusts followed, as he waited for John to get used to his position.

The next time he slid in, he kept going till he met resistance inside John’s mouth. But he did not stop and kept moving in relentlessly millimetre by millimetre. John felt his throat muscles convulse against the invasion and his gag reflex triggered. _Can’t move, can’t take in more, Sherlock please_ , he tried to communicate with panicked eyes. Sherlock’s thumb caressed his throat in gentle circles as he said gently, “Yes, you can. Let go. Let it go. For me.”

 _I can’t breathe, I’m going to suffocate_ John thought as his throat clamped up against his wishes.

“Hold me for support, John. Breathe through your nose,” Sherlock ordered in a firm voice and John’s hands scrambled to grab Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock’s cock felt like a huge battering ram in his mouth about to batter him into oblivion. Desperately he looked up and met Sherlock’s calm focussed eyes. Sherlock murmured quietly, “Give it up to me, John, _all_ of it”

The Sub looked up at his Dom as his entire being latched on to the tenderness in his Dom’s voice. Suddenly there was no Baker’s Street, no world outside, everything had receded. Nothing existed except his Dom’s voice commanding him to give up control. A calmness entered his being as John took a leap of faith and surrendered. _Completely_. His jaw slackened, his throat muscles relaxed and for the first time ever Sherlock slid in completely, until John’s nose was buried in his pubic hair.

Dimly John was aware of hair tickling his face, dimly he was aware that he was drooling on both sides of his stretched mouth; he could not swallow as the bulbous head of Sherlock’s cock was lodged deep within his throat kept it open. Dimly he could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. But his entire focus was on Sherlock’s voice saying, “Good, John. You’re doing so well,” and feel his fingers running through his hair gently.

They stayed locked in position, both of them, for a while.

And then Sherlock started fucking John.

He slid out till just the head of his cock was in and slammed back in, burying himself to the hilt. Again and again and again. With power. With force. Without mercy. With every thrust his hard pubic bones smashed into John’s mouth, his balls swinging and slapping just underneath John’s chin. “Huh, huh, huh…” he grunted with each plunge. John could feel the powerful flex of his thigh muscles as he worked John over, he could feel the cock-head pummel his throat. John’s face was covered with tears and drool. A kind of euphoria, unlike anything he had felt before, settled into John and he felt like he was floating. His Dom was using him for his pleasure, John was the one giving him this pleasure, a willing vessel at his feet.

After a long time, it seemed like Sherlock had his fill as he cried out, “Fuck, fuck…” and pulled off completely letting go of John. “Not like this. I want to come in your arse, John,” he said roughly pulling John up and almost throwing him face down on the sofa. John welcomed the softness under his knees as Sherlock impatiently slapped his legs apart. He dug his thumbs into John’s cleft roughly and pulled the cheeks apart. Without waiting he pushed into the still-lubed hole. The stretch burned as he penetrated John, even as one hand shoved John’s face into the backrest. A push on John’s head to indicate he stay in place, a pull on his hips to hoist him higher, his arse sticking up so that Sherlock did not have to bend his knees to fuck him. He slid out again and slid in slowly a couple of times.

“God, John, do you have any idea how fucking obscene this looks?” he asked. “Your arse is so red and your arsehole is stretched so wide around me,” he murmured as he draped his chest over John’s back, his arm holding John up. His other arm snaked down to finally hold John’s cock. John felt as though he was electrified as jolt upon jolt of sensation coursed through his body, Sherlock’s talented fist stroking his cock even as he pushed in to the limit, till John felt like he was split into half. Sharp teeth nibbled at the angle of John’s jaw and then he murmured huskily into John’s ears, “You can come anytime you want now.” He let go of John’s cock and straightened up, tightening his hands around John’s hips, fingers digging in as he started pounding in.

John thanked whatever complex mathematical formulae Sherlock used to always unerringly find his prostate when he started fucking him in earnest. Every single thrust resulted in a forceful nudge to that sensitive area and John almost sobbed in relief, knowing that it would take very little to tip him over the edge. Sherlock had the stamina of a stallion, but John knew tonight he was very close to completion.

Sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room as John moaned in tandem with Sherlock’s loud gasps of effort. Every brutal thrust rippled through John’s body, as his face was pushed into the soft sofa back-rest, his fingers digging into the sofa covers. He could feel his climax approach as every part of him coalesced around that sweet spot deep in his pelvis that Sherlock was battering relentlessly. He had permission, but he seemed to be hovering around the precipice, in need of that one last final push that would tip him over.

“Please, please…. I need,” he called out desperately, pleading for release _, so close, please help me, Sherlock, I’m so close, can’t take it anymore._

SMACK! SMACK!

Sherlock’s hand came down in two forceful slaps right over his already abused arse, and then suddenly John screamed, “ _SHERLOCK_ ,” and he was coming.

Waves upon waves of intense pleasure overtook his body, his cock pulsed as long streaks of come stripped the sofa, his hole clamping down on Sherlock’s flesh desperately. It was an orgasm that didn’t seem to want to end as his cock continued to pulse, come pooling on the sofa between his legs. “Sherlock…..Sherlock…… Sherlock,” he cried and gasped as he trembled violently with relief, with pleasure.

There was an urgency in Sherlock’s voice as he ordered, “Stay with me, John. Fuck, I am so close.” His hips slammed into John viciously. One hand pushed down on John’s face, as he bent over his back, his hips delivering a series of short jabs into John, stimulating the most sensitive part of his cock-head. Face buried into the nape of John’s neck as he puffed out forcefully into John’s skin, arms wrapped around John’s torso.

“Mine….My John,” he murmured as his hips slammed in one last time and he buried himself deep, as he started coming. John could feel every forceful pulse of his cock through the over-sensitive stretched rim of his arsehole and the warmth of Sherlock’s seed pooling deep into his bowels.

Sherlock lay there draped over John, face buried into John’s back as he panted loudly and erratically. They stayed locked in that most intimate of positions, John valiantly holding up his body to support his Dom’s. It was only after several moments that Sherlock slipped out his softening cock and let go of John. John felt Sherlock’s come start to dribble down his thighs as he heard Sherlock’s voice gasp out faintly, “John…”

He righted himself hurriedly and turned around only to see Sherlock standing unsteady on his feet, arm stretched out as though asking for support.

“Sherlock, what is it?” John asked urgently even as he slipped his arms around him and gently eased him down on the sofa. He knelt down between Sherlock’s legs, anxiously looking at his face, “God…please, Sherlock, are you alright?” as his hands smoothed back Sherlock’s damp locks. “Talk to me, please…. Open your eyes,” he begged.

Slowly Sherlock opened his eyes to whisper, “A bit dizzy.”

“You haven’t eaten, haven’t slept in three days,” John said as he kissed Sherlock’s lips gently. “Lie down, let me get you something,” he said as he tried to push Sherlock down on the sofa.

Sherlock resisted, “Not yet. Come here.” He pulled John up on his lap, “Please?”

John shuffled on to Sherlock’s lap, straddling him as Sherlock buried his face into John’s chest. It was such an unprecedented gesture of comfort-seeking that for a couple of heartbeats John was taken aback. Then he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, holding him close, kissing his hair as he said gently, “Hey……hey, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Tell me what’s wrong, okay? Just tell me. I am not you, Sherlock. Remember? I need to be told…please.”

Sherlock shook his head, his face still buried and John felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. He didn’t know what to do with it except to tighten his arms around Sherlock some more. They just sat there locked in an embrace, John gently caressing Sherlock’s back, cradling his head, kissing his hair. It was after a long time that Sherlock let go of John and sat back, his head tilted up on the backrest of the sofa, eyes covered with a bent elbow in front of his face.

Uncertain about what to do John slid down again between Sherlock’s legs and reached up to try and pull Sherlock’s arm away. “Please, Sherlock.”

Sherlock let his arm be pulled away and slowly opened his eyelids to reveal blue-green eyes swimming in tears. John watched speechlessly as they slowly spilt over and Sherlock’s face seemed to crumble. He looked at John and then looked away, as though searching for words out there somewhere.

Finally he turned back to look at John and said, “Those kids…… just children, they were just little children. Even wild animals don’t do that…. God, John.”

John stared at him. _This man I called a machine, this brilliant human being who probably carries every case he solves, every bit of ugliness he sees every day, inside of him._

He took a deep breath, his hands gripping Sherlock’s knees and tried to put as much of his conviction in his voice as he could, “You helped those kids, Sherlock. Without you, they would have led a life as sex-slaves. You saved them. You are Sherlock Holmes. That is what you _do_. You save people. You _saved_ them.”

Sherlock shook his head sadly as he rested back and closed his eyes again, “Just a drop in the ocean, John.”

John gently took Sherlock’s hand and kissed his palm, murmuring, “No you are not. You are the most amazing human being I have ever met. Sherlock, open your eyes, damn it,” As Sherlock looked down at him, he shook his head emphatically and said in a stern voice, “Now you listen to me very carefully.” He took a deep breath and then hissed with as much force as he could muster, “Don’t you ever, _ever_ feel you don’t do enough, do you hear me? Sherlock, do you promise me?”

Sherlock looked down at John kissing his palm and smiled through his tears and brought his other hand up to run lightly through John’s hair.

“There you are. Captain Doctor John Watson,” he said tenderly. They just sat there looking at each other for a few moments.

Slowly Sherlock’s hand came down to cup John’s cheek as he looked all over John’s face. “I was very rough with you tonight.” A gentle thumb caressed John’s lips lightly. “Even your mouth is bruised. And your arse looks like it was mauled. I’ve broken the skin in a couple of places.”

John buried his face in Sherlock’s palm and said simply, “I loved every minute of it.”

Sherlock gave a short laugh, “I know. You’ve become quite the glutton for it.”

“Only from your hands, Sherlock,” John replied looking up at him steadily.

“Come here,” Sherlock said, pulling him closer. He bent down to kiss John, soft tender lover’s kisses. John mouth moved underneath him, welcoming him in, enjoying the soft sighs that escaped Sherlock’s mouth.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

Someday he would find the courage to say it aloud.

Sherlock pulled back even as his arms tried to push John away, “I’ll go get the cream for your skin and some water.”

“NO,” John’s voice was loud as he resisted without thinking. Sherlock’s eyebrow went up and John hastened to add, “It can wait.”

“Aftercare is _my_ responsibility, John.”

“I…..” John looked pleadingly at Sherlock, “Please let me….. let me have this tonight.”

_I am witness to your brilliance every day. I am allowed to see your passion. For the first time you have chosen to allow me to see your emotions, see inside the armour. Let me have this honour. Don’t push me away, Sherlock. Please let me be the one to care for you, for a change._

“Alright, John,” Sherlock gave a tired smile and lay back. John got on his feet awkwardly trying his best not to wince. His body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Every muscle hurt, his arse still felt like a dull fire was licking at it, his throat was sore. He went into the kitchen to get some water and brought back a cloth to wipe his semen off of the sofa.

“There are some left-overs in the fridge, you can eat something, then we can go and sleep inside,” he suggested.

Sherlock waved the thought off and stretched his arm out for John. “Come here. Want to stay here for a while.”

He pulled John close to him and laid down on the sofa, closing his eyes. John lied down on his side and held Sherlock close, his hand gently stroking Sherlock’s skin. He watched the delicate, almost translucent skin of Sherlock’s eyelids flutter over his eyes. Bending down he kissed Sherlock’s forehead, “Sleep for a bit. You are exhausted. I’ve got you.”

Sherlock didn’t bother to reply as he shuffled closer, burying his face into John’s neck.

_I love you. I love you, Sherlock. So much._

Eyes still closed, Sherlock smiled and murmured against John’s skin, “I know, John. You’re thinking too loudly. Hush now. Sleep.”


End file.
